Bad Boys
by Golden-Greaser-Girl
Summary: My take on how Sylvia and Dallas met. ONESHOT! T for language


**This I my first outsiders fic, and I'm pretty excited! So let's get this show on the road! **

**Sylvia POV **

Let me be the first to clarify, I like bad boys. To be perfectly frank, bad boys like me, So, as you can imagine, I get along pretty well for a greaser.

My recent ex was a cheating bastard with way to much time on his hands, and, coincidentally, no life. I was on the look for a new hood, and I believe I had just found one...

"Dad... Why do I have to go to all these trials?" he frowned at me,

"This shit is boring..." I muttered, my voice barely audible.

Dad shot me a look, and I sunk into a slouch, letting myself melt into the uncomfortably hard wood chair. This was supposed to teach me a lesson about teenage delinquents, and why they're bad... something like that...

This was a punishment for sneaking out every Friday night... for what they though had been a month or two... but what they didn't know didn't hurt 'em.

The courthouse was full of stiff benches, and angular wooden chairs. Everything was gray an boring, I glanced up at my dad, pleading.

My father was one of the jurors, which unfortunately meant he had sent most of my friend's boyfriends to the cooler. For that simple fact, I kept my dad's occupation a secret. The members of the jury got paid very little, so we were stuck on the east side, the company I kept were mostly hoods and sluts, but hey, friends are friends!

"Dad... Please! This is so boring!"

"Dallas Winston!" the judge hollered, "Please come to the stand."

I heard the judge whisper something about being glad he showed up this time...

I smiled.

Things just got more interesting.

A handsome youth jogged up the stairs, muttering obscenities. I knew who he was immediately, the gossip at school spread like wild-fire, and from what I'd heard, he was the worst of the worst... a true bad boy. Apparently, he was arrested at age ten, and since then, had built a record a mile-high with the fuzz. What I didn't hear, however, was how cute he was...

I often saw him while on one of my escapades... vacations, I liked to call them, vacations away from the family. My hang-out of choice was Buck's, it always had a late night brawl, or some guys willing to fool around with a greaser like me. Sometimes I'd seen him talking dirty to a broad, or drinking with friends.

I'd never _really_ looked at him though... N

ever saw the way he shook his tuff hair out of his eyes... or the way he looked at people... his icy eyes piercing, making a shiver run down my spine.

While he made sarcastic remarks to the judge, I took out my compact and re-applied my thick eye-liner, and shockingly red lip gloss. I rubbed my lips together, tasting the fresh, cherry flavor of the gloss on my tongue. I pulled down my sweater a bit lower... fluffed my hair just a little more... then I stared at him.

It's always awkward during the split second your objective doesn't notice the wild pair of eyes staring them down, but it didn't take Dallas Winston long to notice me. I waved shyly, then bit my lip, and shook my shaggily cut blonde bangs out of my eyes. He gave me an odd look at first, his eyes clearly saying,

"What the fuck is this broad starin' at me for..."

but it was just a guess. His gaze shifted to my blouse, and I smiled just a little bit. He looked for a second, then looked away.

A challenge, I see... Hmmmm…

It was then my dear father caught on to what was happening, and I slowly realized he had seen everything. He gave me an enraged look, glaring at Dally, then back at me, and he brought his hand to his throat, slicing his finger across it.

I knew what that meant,

"Your dead." I shrugged, and laughed softly as his face began to grow red, and the little vain on his forehead started to become visible.

I focused my attention back to Dally. He didn't seem to be interested in me anymore, and was instead, staring into space.

He was playing with my head... I knew quite well what was happening, I wasn't dumb, he was defiantly interested, just trying to test me.

What a strange game we play...

I will admit, I was a little frustrated. I hadn't even spoken to the boy, and he was already started to get to me... it was a good sign.

I gave Dally one last flirtatious look, then spaced out for the rest of the trial.

Dallas was, of course, proven guilty, and earned himself a week in the slammer. I smiled to myself, at least I know where he'll be Friday night! My father angrily got in the car, an old Volvo, and slammed the door.

"I left some paperwork at the station..." He trailed off, still not looking me in the eye.

"Whatever..." I muttered, and we drove through town in silence.

I surveyed the parked police cars, and groaned, walking inside briskly, my heels clicking on the pavement. The inside of the station was cool and air conditioned. I slouched into the comfy looking chair, and when I discovered it was on wheels, I spun around, making a ghastly grating noise on the floor. My father, rummaging through papers, glared at me, and told me to find something better to do.

I got up, and decided to explore a little.

I pushed open the door with the red bolded letters that clearly stated security personnel were the only ones allowed inside.

A single cell occupied the room, and a desk where a police officer was meant to be... I shrugged, and ventured further.

A shadow shifted inside the cell, and I jumped,

"Hey, you... broad!"

I swung around, clutching my chest.

It was Dallas Winston.

"What?" I muttered sweetly, cocking my hip to one side.

"Mind grabbin' me the keys...?" I shrugged, and started sifting through the desk drawer. "These?" I held them by one finger, and twirled them about.

"Whad'ya fucking think I meant?" I smiled, and decided to make some conversation.

"So..." I asked while unlocking the padlock on the barred door,

"Why aren't you in the cooler?"

"They get all my shit together, and I lounge around here for a while." he answered, annoyed.

"Your not really one for conversation, huh?" He glared at me, and my knees went weak. "I hate it when broads run their mouths..." he muttered, I shrugged.

"I hate shuttin' up." I retorted, his eyes back on my blouse.

"Good thing you're a babe..." he whispered through the cell.

I clicked open the lock.

He was handcuffed, and walked out of the cell awkwardly, still just as handsome.

I surveyed him, and he seemed to be sizing me up.

"You're the broad at the trial." he muttered

"You bet... I've seen you around school." He shrugged.

"Mind unlockin' the cuffs?" he said, and to my delight, he slipped his handcuffed arms around my head, and leaned in to my neck,

"Be a doll." he whispered into my ear.

"I like the cuffs..." I muttered, and for a split second, our lips met roughly.

I looked him in the eyes, still hard and cold. Good. I hate pansys.

He kissed me harder, and I felt handcuffed arms slip down to rest around my waist. I arched my back, and laid down halfway on top of the cluttered desk. I heard the distant sound of the stapler clutter onto the ground.

He kissed my neck, and I panted, pressing him closer to me.

He moved back up to my lips, and my heart began to race,

this boy knew how'da kiss...

I heard a gasp from the doorway, and our lips broke apart to glance to the door.

"Shit..." I heard Dallas mutter, and I met the eyes of my father.

Dallas, on top of me, handcuffed, and me, on top of the desk, and my father...

Well,

His face was priceless.

**Hope you all enjoyed! Oh, and just as a side note, I can tell already I'll be criticized this story seeming rushed, but think about it, **

**Dallas Winston. **

**Official badass-greaser. **

**I'm sure if he had things his way, she woulda' been outa her blouse in five seconds flat. No kidding! **

**R&R, wonderful readers! Constructive criticism is welcome!**

**-GGG **


End file.
